


On the Road We Find the Journey Home

by navaan



Category: Captain America (Comics), Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Angst, Confessions, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship/Love, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Post-Secret Empire (Marvel), Road Trips, Sharing a Bed, Texting, Vulnerability
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-05-18 16:54:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19338667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/navaan/pseuds/navaan
Summary: In the Aftermath of Secret Empire, Steve goes on his Road Trip to find out who Captain America can be after Hyda!Cap put fear into the hearts' of the people who used to cheer for him. His thoughts trail back to Tony.





	On the Road We Find the Journey Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Missy_dee811](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy_dee811/gifts).



> Written for the Stony Loves Steve Exchange 2019. Combines events from Captain America V. 1 #695 and #605 (2017-2018) and Tony Stark: Iron Man. Adjusting timelines to fit.
> 
> Thank you, P*redacted* for quick beta!!

The steps echoed loudly through the hallways, framed by the reinforced cold steel walls of the prison. The artificial light added to the clinical, impersonal feel of the facility.

None of it served to make Steve Rogers feel better about this situation.

“I would feel better if there still was the Raft,” Steve told Sharon, who was walking beside him with an equally grim expression. _Tomb_ he thought, _I’d feel much better if I could just bury him and forget he ever existed._

But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t.

Whatever the man had done, he would pay for it the way any other criminal should. Despite everything he had done _wearing Steve’s face_ , wearing his uniform and speaking with the warped voice of Captain America. 

He would pay.

But Steve wasn’t sure yet how to set things right at all. Even if his villainous twin was behind bars now, the world had suffered. The Supreme Leader had taken everything that Steve counted among his strengths and ripped the country apart with them.

How to deal with the fact that another Steve Rogers had been the Supreme Leader of Hydra and set out to reshape the world in their rotten green image?

“SHIELD will make sure he never gets out,” Sharon assured him, her mouth set in a thin line. Her eyes met him for a moment and then she nodded — although Steve wasn’t sure if it was for his benefit or hers, but he saw the quickness with which her gaze flitted away as it often had since they had taken down the other Steve Rogers. “He’ll never get out,” Sharon repeated.

Steve nodded back at her. Right now wasn’t the time to remember how often SHIELD had failed at keeping the bad guys at bay, or how often even a prison like the Raft had failed to keep the villains from breaking out. 

_Tony helped build the Raft,_ he thought. _I should ask his opinion._

For a terrible moment, he remembered Prison 42 and thought: _That’s what we need._ But he shut that line of thinking away immediately. While some of Tony’s memories of that terrible time had come back after he’d recovered from his brain deletion _that_ wasn’t something Steve ever wanted to bring up between them. Especially not now that _he_ was the one who had so much to make up for.

His twin's laughter was still ringing in his ears. He’d told Steve: “It was so easy to manipulate your friends. They were so eager to but heads, Tony so eager to be on the right side of the conflict or once. It never took much to put him off balance. A nice word here, some disapproval there. My only regret is what happened to him. I had plans for him. But even in death, he found a way to fight back.” And then he had laughed.

Steve knew enough about what had happened to understand.

That’s why he had made sure nobody told the prisoner that Tony Stark had put himself back together again.

The man was alive, back from his coma and rebuilding his company in New York. 

It was another miracle — another Tony Stark miracle.

Caught up in the fallout of his own worst nightmare, Steve’s biggest regret was that he only got the news from the media. Last he had spoken to Iron Man, the suit had been controlled by the AI the man had left as his legacy. Now the man himself was back, had wrestled control from the board of directors and founded a new company all in one week.

Iron Man hadn’t shown up at SHIELD, hadn’t contacted his old team of Avengers — that after what Hydra Supreme had pulled was in shambles anyway; least of all he had contacted Steve. Would contact be welcome after someone with Steve’s face had pulled Tony’s strings and pushed him and Carol into the conflict that had put Tony in a coma? 

Steve had talked to Carol, to Rhodes, to the AI Tony and all of them had been surprisingly fine with his return. But would Tony be okay with it?

“Will you go back to DC?” Sharon asked, pulling Steve from his brooding. “Or will you help in New York?”

New York. That was where the new Stark Unlimited was keeping Tony’s attention.

Recently, Steve had moved back to his apartment, had taken it apart and put it back together to make sure any trace of the impostor, of _HYDRA_ was gone. But settling down when the country was still in an uproar, coming back to normalcy slowly, didn’t sit well with him. 

Not feeling sure of himself now that the country had reason to fear him — it wasn’t something he was used to. He didn’t want to get used to it, but he had some way to go before the trust he’d lost would be earned back.

“I think I have to go for a while. Find out what this country needs from me. What I can do.”

“What you can do? With SHIELD?” 

He could see in her eyes that behind the blank mask of professionalism, she knew what he was saying and that she wasn’t going to contest it. Nobody here was giving him a hard time, but the unease, the memories of how easily they’d all handed over the power to Captain America and paid for it was deeply rooted in every single upstanding agent. Steve wasn’t blind. He wasn’t stupid. He could see it, and he couldn’t blame anyone but Hydra’s Supreme leader who was kept a few hallways down from here behind secure steel doors.

“With _my_ shield. On my own. How I can help people here?” he finally answered here and opened his arms wide to indicate these hallways. “Nobody needs a tainted symbol to remind them how easily it can all go south. Right now, the country needs to look forward, find its strength again. So does SHIELD. So do I.”

Sharon’s shoulders sagged. Exhaustion lined her face.

But she nodded and that she didn’t try to keep him said more than any words could have.

He had a long way to go — and every journey started with a single step. He would take that step out of here now and see where it took him.

* * *

Steve packed the few things he truly needed, stuffed all of it into a bag that was big enough to carry the shield, even though he knew he could store the shield in the bike too. And what else did he need? Decades ago he’d survived with less in the middle of war zones and on this trip he knew he’ll find what he needed in motels, restaurants, and supermarkets.

With the bike he sped out of New York, leaving behind the apartment that felt like it had been invaded by the enemy, but also the invitation of Avengers and friends to stop by — and the chance to talk to Tony and make amends there.

They would talk, when they were ready, Steve hoped. Too many tense years had kept them apart, and Steve didn’t want it to stay that way. If Tony was prepared to start over...

For miles, he decided to not think about it, choosing to go West and drift until he felt calmer until his shoulders relaxed and he felt like a guy in a leather jacket taking a joy ride. Hours later, he stopped for the first time at a small gas station close to a diner, centered and not yet tired but ready to engage the world for a while. Wasn’t the point of this journey to meet Americans — the kind without superpowers and superhero friends? This looked like an excellent place to start. 

Out of habit, he checked his phone, half expecting an urgent message from SHIELD to flash at him. There _was_ a message waiting — but not from SHIELD. It was Tony’s contact flashing at him.

“Welcome back in the world, True-Winghead. We missed you.” 

_We missed you._ Only three words and it seemed with them Tony was wiping away all that had happened, things Carol had explained, that Sharon had mentioned, that the other Steve had hinted at with a wicked smile. Steve stared at the sentence for a while, leaning casually against the bike, unsure how to answer. 

“Thanks,” he finally typed back. “I’m glad you’re…”

He hesitated. What did he want to say? Alive? Okay? Back?

He deleted the last part and then wrote: “Welcome back yourself, Real-Shellhead. Are you okay?”

For minutes he stared at the Stark Phone messenger, waiting for Tony’s contact to light up and the three shivering dots to tell him Tony was typing, but nothing happened. Swallowing impatience and disappointment, he pocketed the phone and decided to try the diner for some food.

He had nowhere to be. There was no need to rush this trip.

Time to remember that the people were still out there and the nation had come through — even against a warped Captain America.

* * *

Stopping at the diner had been right. For the first time in weeks — with working people around him, families making the best of what life gave them, young and old talking to each other about home, work and life just as they always had — Steve felt a weight lifted off his shoulders. The world had been turned upside down, and yet it was still the same at its very core.

He enjoyed another long ride after his meal and opted to stop at a run-down motel at the edge of a small town that lay beside the highway instead of going right through. And only then did he check his phone, bracing himself to see no answer still. 

But there were two little light blue bubbles of text waiting for him. “I’m alive. Members of the board were not amused.”

It was the most cynical Tony-style answer — and if Steve knew anything about Tony Stark, he’d say it was also his way of implying he was okay without right out putting it into words. Which, in Steve’s experience, meant Tony wasn’t okay at all, or he hadn’t figured yet out yet what the correct answer was and didn’t want to lie to Steve. Tony was a master of not telling the truth without outright lying. In hindsight, Steve wondered if playing Tony Stark’s bodyguard Iron Man for years and even in front of his closest friends had taught Tony how to perfect the skill.

The second bubble read: “Still doing clean-up?”

That question Steve could read just as well as the avoidance of a clear answer to Steve’s own query. It was Tony’s way of unobtrusively echoing the question right back at him: “Are you okay, Steve?”

“I’m taking some time for myself,” he typed and sent it immediately.

This time the three dots appeared right away. Tony was typing back an answer. He was looking at his phone, too, just as Steve was.

Steve threw a look at the time. It was later than he’d thought and he wondered if he’d caught Tony during a late dinner in his office or workshop or if the ever-working CEO had left the company early for once and was typing these words before falling asleep on his sofa. It wasn’t likely. Tony’s return had been the usual tornado, fast and unstoppable. He was in at least one lawsuit, had managed to set up a new think tank and company _and_ Iron Man and War Machine returned in the middle of chaos. 

Tony was in the middle of his own clean-up. He wouldn’t rest before he was done.

The blue bubble appeared.

“Vacation? You? Tell me you’re at a beach somewhere, wearing stars and stripes shorts.”

Dots.

“Better yet,” Tony’s next message said, “send a picture.”

Steve grinned at the joke. His fingers hovered over the display. 

Should he type an answer? Should he just pick up the phone and call Tony?

Were they ready for that?

Was Steve?

With a pang, he realized he wanted to hear Tony’s voice, wanted to talk to him, apologize for the things he hadn’t done. Remembering Sharon and the looks she shot him, remembering what he knew of how the other Steve had betrayed and then imprisoned her — it was enough to make him second guess his need to push for a talk with Tony, when _Tony hadn’t called first_.

He had texted him first, and that’s why they were texting at all.

Making up his mind, he decided he should at least try. With two taps on the screen, he was calling Tony. He put the cell to his ear and waited.

No-one picked up.

He set it down, disappointed. 

There were a hundred reasons for Tony not to answer right away. The one Steve feared the most was _unease_. He brushed the thought away and typed: “Why? Do you need to be reminded what a vacation looks like?” he typed, and then: “No beach. Road trip.”

No dots appeared. No answer followed. And the messenger showed the message as delivered but not read yet. 

Because guessing at why Tony wasn’t looking at the phone would only drive him mad, Steve put the phone away and decided to rest and be patient. He would need to learn that until the rest of the world was ready to deal with Captain America again.

* * *

“Road trip? Finding yourself on the road? American tradition. Fits,” Tony wrote the next day. “I remember vacations. When I have them, something explodes.”

Steve noted he hadn’t tried to call Steve back, but even if he had, he wouldn’t have been able to pick up on the road. Perhaps it was for the best.

* * *

He had an unpleasant experience with a group calling themselves _Hydra patriots_. They were wearing the flag and the in Georgia, Sharon called him to make sure he was alright. Steve checked the insides of his pockets and knew he would do something to pay for the next motel room. Washing dishes was a time-honored tradition too.

In a diner’s window, he saw a sign that help was wanted and he thought to try his luck for a few dollars. Instead, he was recognized instantly and found himself surrounded by cameras and curious faces. He was more than a little surprised to see what he’d been looking for — everyday folk willing to talk — without any hostility, interested in talking to him.

He wondered if his luck would hold.

A day later, he left Alabama with some sweet stories to remember and a still nearly empty wallet. 

When he looked into his account to see if there was any money to withdraw, he found a deposit from the Maria Stark Foundation had arrived just the day before.

“Tony,” Steve sighed. “I know you mean well, but it’s not your job to finance my road trip.”

He picked up the phone to try and give Tony another call, hoping this time he would pick-up. He found a message waiting for him: “Where are you off to next?” 

“No idea,” he admitted. “Plan’s to travel up to the Midwest. Someone gave me the money to afford it.”

“Send me a postcard. Maybe from Nebraska. I hear you were there before. Might be nice to revisit.”

An address appeared in the next bubble beneath — not for the new Washington Square facility but a new apartment in Manhattan. 

Steve shook his head. “I’ll drop by when I’m back for a round of poker,” he typed back.

Tony sent back a thumbs up and left it at it.

He always won his money back at poker, and yet Steve never felt as if he could get even. A heavy sigh escaped him, and then he found himself smiling.

“I missed playing poker with you,” he typed and sent before he could think better of it. It was the closest he would come to typing, “I missed you,” even though what he was really thinking was, “I _still_ miss you.”

Would some of the things that had never been spoken between them forever remain unspoken? Was that how it should be.

Steve clenched his fist and unclenched, looking at his young hands, remembered how he’d aged and though it was for the best, how he and Tony would never speak again — let alone get together.

Wasn’t that still the truth?

He got back on the bike, ready for his little private tour through the Midwest. 

In how many places had he punched bad guys, stopped Hydra, the Serpent Society or just the Avengers enemy of the week?

* * *

He did a double take when he a street sign welcome him to at a town called “Captain America.” He remembered that he’d been here when the city had been called in Burlington years before, only months after the Avengers had pulled him from the ice. Which he learned over a Hot Dog at 10th Annual Captain America festival was an absurd story, and people had made up all kinds of theories about his true identity.

He learned later, after he’d stopped a terrorist group called Rampart for the second time in ten years in this very spot, that people had found ways to explain the fight between two Captain Americas in front of the White House, had found ways to tell themselves that Hydra Supreme had never been the actual Captain America in the first place. 

“Come on,” am African-American mother with her little girl on her arms said and grinned as she took a selfie with him, “nobody believes that here. We know you. You saved us then and now.”

“Yeah,” an elderly man agreed, “we all know he wasn’t you.”

He smiled and shrugged, listening to theories and stories people have to tell about him surprised how many explanations are weirder even than a typical Avengers day. 

“What if I’m not the same Cap I was ten years before?” he asked after he meets the Hot Dog seller again who believes Steve never survived the ice and is a new Captain America created to join the Avengers. “After all, I died at some point and came back.”

The young man shrugged and one of the girls he’d saved ten years back is there to laugh: “Of course, you’re the same. And the other one wasn’t. He didn’t know the basic rule: The strong protect the weak, right?”

“Yeah,” the young Hot Dog seller agreed flippantly. “And even Tony Stark returns from the dead every other week. It’s just PR and secret agent stuff, isn’t it`”

The mention of Tony hit him like an unexpected brick wall, knocked the breath right out of him for a second. Suddenly he wanted to ask Tony what coming back had been like for him. Had it been painful? Terrible? Scary? 

What had the other Steve said to him? What had he done? How had Tony forgiven him? 

“Do you sell postcards?”

“Sure,” someone said, “the Captain America museum has loads.”

He chuckled, not sure he was comfortable with the notion of the festival or museum in light of Hydra’s reign, but amused at the idea of sending Tony a Captain America postcard from a town called Captain America.

In the end, he even used a Captain America stamp and grinned when the woman at the counter took it to post it for him and raised an eyebrow when she saw the name he’d scribbled on it.

“Iron Man gets postcards? Can’t you send him a picture.”

“He asked for a postcard,” Steve said and grinned. “He gets too many emails. This will stand out.”

The woman grinned back: “I’m sure.”

* * *

The next bit of trouble waited for him in Kansas. A group of fourteen self-professed Hydra agents fighting for the reestablishment of their “lawful and superior” government stormed a school and held a town hostage by keeping their kids from them.

Steve rode in on his bike, not knowing what was happening and found himself in uniform and shield in hand in the middle of an upset crowd that was ready to throw stones at him the moment he showed his face.

Even after he’d ended the hostage situation without losing any of the kids, nobody wanted to thank him. Nobody even commented on the fact that he’d taken a bullet to the shoulder, protecting two little boys and he ended up standing in the town square bleeding listening to all the accusations he’d been waiting for rolling over him in one volatile rush. 

“You’re the one who did this to us,” one of the fathers hissed at him. “They’re here because of you and what you did.”

Silently, he took it, wondered if he’d be driven from town with pitchforks. 

“It wasn’t me,” he roared when he managed to cut in, “but you’re right about something. People trusted me because of who I am. You trusted me, the government, SHIELD — the Avengers. Nobody hesitated to give me the power to run the country. And you’re right that nobody should have trust enough to run unchecked like that.”

Shouts tried to shut him up. The first shouts to make him leave could be heard.

Steve nodded, turned, went back to his bike despite his hurting shoulder. To him, even a bullet wound like it as something that would heal soon. The wounds Hydra had cut open here would be harder to recover from.

Not fearing an attack, he showed the crowds his back, showed them he wasn’t running but walking, and that he was going along with what they were asking of him. 

There would be selfies here, no celebration or a hot meal in exchange for a story or two. 

When he started up the bike under the watchful eyes of the local police, he realized that he was feeling relieved. Some people remembered the man with his face that had torn the country and had set his sights on the world. The last weeks had lulled him into the sense that the world had returned to normal and nobody wanted to talk about the terror of the months under Hydra’s rule and all the bad that had been done in Steve’s name. Everyone had been quick to absolve him.

For the first time, he’d been denied absolution.

And it had rekindled his determination.

Wounds could heal when you knew they were there.

* * *

He ended up wapping his shoulder in a terribly unsanitary roadside motel.

A knock on the door put him on guard, but he stood up to open the door, ready to hear he wasn’t welcome here either.

He swung the door open one handed and without confirming who was on the other side.

When he saw who it was, he froze.

“Hey,” Tony said and waved. “I called three times, but you didn’t answer.”

Steve opened his mouth to answer, forgot what he had wanted to say and realized he had no idea where he’d stuffed the phone when he’d shrugged out of his leather jacket and button down shirt.

“God,” Tony said and brushed past him, wrinkling his nose, “that looks awful.”

Still, in a state of surprise, Steve closed the door quietly and then turned around. “It’s not a bad room,” he defended the room that smelled of stale cigarette smoke and dust.

“I meant that,” Tony said and pointed at Steve’s shoulder. “I saw what happened. Are you okay?”

“Me?” Steve repeated and blinked. “I’ll live. How did you know where I was…”

“Sorry? What? Oh, right. It wasn’t hard to figure out a radius, knowing where you’d just left a group of Hydra goons incarcerated. Also, you do carry an Avengers ID card, and it’s transmitting your location. It’s an old one, but..” 

“Oh,” Steve said. He was carrying a card. An old one. He hadn’t realized it was still connected, because the Avengers team that had used those was gone. He’d found it in the apartment and shoved it into his jacket pocket because it meant something — the memory of better times, more carefree times.

“Are you alright? You look pale, Cap.”

Tony looked perfect. His mustache wasn’t as perfectly styled as Steve remembered but made his attractiveness more casual than planned. His hair was sticking in different directions.

“Did you fly here?”

“Iron Man,” Tony said and quirked his eyebrows. “That’s what I do.”

“Because I didn’t pick up the phone?” His throat was dry, and the words fell from his lips like sand, his voice raspy and breathless. “I thought maybe you didn’t want me to call you.”

Tony’s eyes widened, and he stared. “We’ve been texting for weeks.”

“I know, but you didn’t pick up…”

“I should have called back!” Tony shouted, surprising both of them with the sudden vehemence. “I didn’t know what to say. I’m…”

The mask of perfection cracked, and just for that instant, Steve could see to the core of overwhelming exhaustion that hid beneath. It echoed inside of him, mingled with the lingering pain of the gunshot wound and the emotional calm that had helped him rein in the storm of feelings after he’d seen the fear and hate of a town directed at himself.

It was that echo that forced him to take a step forward and close the gap between them to hug Tony. “I’m so glad you’re alive.”

“Me?” Tony asked and let himself be pulled into the embrace with rigid shoulders, his breath puffing against Steve’s neck. “You were shot!”

“You were in a coma!” Steve shouted back at him.

“That was weeks ago!” Tony shouted back as if that made it any better. 

Steve held him righter and finally dared to lean his face into the crook of Tony’s neck to whisper. “I thought I had lost you and _he_ had done it. I…”

“It wasn’t you, Steve,” Tony said too fast. “And...God, I should have known. How did I not know?”

Realization washed over Steve like a bucket of icy cold water. “You blame yourself?”

“Wouldn’t you?” Tony whispered.

Not able to find an answer to that, not able to _think_ with Tony here in this run-down room where he stood out, didn’t belong — had taken Steve by surprise — Steve pulled back enough to meet his eyes. It was the wrong — _right— thing to do entirely._

Sparks flew over like they would at a bonfire.

Steve leaned in to capture Tony’s lips with his own, kissed him with the desperate longing that had been building since he’d found out Tony was alive and he’d not been _told_. As if nobody — not even Tony had expected Steve to care.

Tony let out a surprised breath and held still — long enough for Steve to worry he had miscalculated, done the _unspeakable_.

“You’re not…” Tony whispered against his lips and Steve did not want to hear it, didn’t want to deal with doubt or accusations — just as Tony’s hands came up to claw at his shoulders, holding on for dear life as he leaned into the kiss… and Steve winced and gasped when fingers touched the haphazardly wrapped shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Steve, oh god, I…”

Eyes tearing up with the pain, but not about to kill him, Steve laughed, and let himself fall into a sitting position on the squeaking bed. “I’m fine,” he said. “It’s not so bad. It’s healing.”

“Is it?” Tony held up his fingers, coated with blood. 

It gave Steve a moment to take him in. He was wearing a rumpled suit, the show of well-dressed businessman after a long trip. “Did you run out of a business meeting?” Steve asked him, biting his lip. He liked the suit, felt elation that Tony had turned up after Steve had longed to see him and not dared to ask. Now his lips tasted of Tony...

“Office,” Tony replied, shrugged and then pointed at Steve’s shoulder. “Let me take care of that.”

“Okay.” It was easy to concede he could use the help now that help had arrived — and Tony’s presence distracted him from all protest.

He watched while Tony systematically prepared water to clean the wound properly and set out the contents of the first aid kit to get what he needed before he freed Steve’s shoulder from the make-shift wrapping he’d made from a towel and then helped him out of the tatters his undershirt was in. He felt laid bare to Tony’s gaze as if all his emotions were on display along with the naked skin of his torso — a spectacle that Tony must have seen a hundred times before. But Tony stared as if he was seeing Steve for the first time,

“Do you have to run right back to New York?” Steve asked him, following his nimble fingers at work with his eyes.

“I could take you back if you want to return,” Tony offered readily, biting his lip in concentration while he fixed the wrapping.

It was a habit, Steve knew, but only then did he realize how long he hadn’t seen Tony do it, how long they’d been apart.

He reached out to touch Tony’s cheek, testing, trying to gauge if it was welcome or if he’d flinch back now.

There was no flinching. Tony let the touch happen, let him guide his face down and leaned his brow willingly against Steves. “I wanted to see you,” Steve admitted. “I wasn’t ready yet, but I wanted to.”

“I know,” Tony said, and his voice broke, “I wasn’t ready to meet anyone for a while. I’m not sure I’m ready now.”

“To see me?”

“For anything.”

“Stay,” Steve said and laced their fingers together, pulled Tony to sit beside him.

Tony let his eyes glide over the terribly furnished room. The exhaustion was still there.

“We need to talk,” Steve pressed — not sure at all he had any right to press.

But Tony nodded.

“I’ll stay,” he said, and he sounded so tired that Steve, in less pain now, wanted to wrap him up in the mustard colored blanket and make him sleep.

He wanted to suggest it, say it, reached out again instead but this time Tony was faster, and they ended up lying side by side on the bed observing each other. They’d done this before — sharing a room, a bed, sometimes a blanket — on missions and trips to godforsaken places. Was this different now? Because Steve had let his usually tightly controlled emotions run away with him.

In Tony’s face, he found no unease.

“Let’s rest,” he suggested when he thought he saw Tony’s eye drooping.

“You kissed me,” Tony said as if that part was only registering now. He looked astonished.

“I wanted to for a long time. It never seemed like the right moment,” Steve said. “Never was the right moment.”

Tony watched him, unreadable in his exhausted state. “And now…?”

No, he thought, he wasn’t sure this had been the right moment. It was _a moment_.

“I love you,” he said and slipped out like the well-kept secret that had waited to be told for years that it was — too easy, too simple. “I think maybe I always did and… No more excuses to not admit it.”

“He said,” Tony admitted.

The blood in Steve’s veins ran cold. _He._ “What did he…?”

Tony shrugged. “Not to me. It was when I was… dead. He said _you_ loved me.”

Steve let that think in, mulled it over, investigated the unspoken implications from all angles before asking. “He said I loved you. Not that he loved you?”

In his lying position, Tony’s shrug wasn’t easily visible. “I’m sorry, I didn’t figure him out. I let him string me along with kindness and took his criticism…” He bit his lips.

“You thought it was me. It was me. He is me.” It was the first time he admitted it out loud. “I’m not all sure the Kobik pulled me back out of nothing or back out of him. I don’t know what she did and… it scared me.”

Startled Tony stared at him after that confession, then he said in a small voice. “I don’t know that I’m me.”

“What?”

“I don’t… Am I still me? Am I the same Tony Stark who died? I… don’t know. I try not to stop and think but… Am I the real Tony?”

The fear echoed his own. Their experiences were different, but the fear was the same.

“This is real,” he said. “For whatever it’s worth all of this is real.”

He pulled Tony into a hug and this time Tony’s arms wrapped around him too.

They stayed like that, silently, both lost in their own thoughts, listening to each other’s breaths, heartbeats — reassuring themselves that the other was there, alive, real, that neither of them was alone.

Like that they fell asleep.

* * *

He woke with Tony wrapped in his arms. He let him sleep, got up to clean himself and go out and get some food for both of them. Even in sleep, Tony looked exhausted.

When he came back with supplies and breakfast and two cups of coffee, the bed was empty.

He sat down on the edge of it and staring at the coffee cups in disappointment. It was like Tony to run. Had he run from what Steve had told him? Had he run because he’d been called back?

Why hadn’t he left a note?

A knock on the door.

Same as last night.

When Steve opened it, Tony was standing there, dressed in a black and white motorcycle suit.

Steve blinked at him, and an important question occurred to him only now. “Where’s your armor?”

“It’s —” Tony hesitated “Parked outside.”

Steve looked past him, saw his own bike and a sleek racing machine with red and gold highlights and frowned. 

But this was Tony. Of course, he would be able to build something like it.

“Really?” he asked.

Tony shrugged. “Not my best model,” he admitted. 

Steve shoved one of the cups at him, and Tony took it gratefully.

“I take it you want to come?”

“For a bit,” Tony replied quickly. “I haven’t found my answers at Stark Unlimited. My chances are always better with you.”

He grinned. 

They weren’t running from this. 

They were figuring this out.

Together.

“We can get a car,” Steve suggested. “We could talk on the road.”

Tony shrugged and helped him gather the few belongings that were strewn around the room. 

“Next town?” he suggested.

Steve kissed him on the forehead, this time happy when he saw a blush creep into Tony’s cheeks, astonishment still evident in his eyes.

They’d taken another step in their journey.

Forward.


End file.
